Walking Dead 1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Dry leaves crunch under my bare feet, and the sound is like a gunshot in the silence of the woods. Thorny branches slap at my exposed arms, tearing into my skin and ripping away. Blood drips down my arms to my wrists, dropping to the dark forest floor to mingle with the crushed leaves, dirt, and twigs that litter the ground.

I try to watch where I'm running, but every time I look over my shoulder I manage to trip over every root and step on every sharp rock. My feet are torn and bleeding like the rest of me, and I worry about getting some kind of infection out here all alone in the woods. Only God knows what's mixed in with this dirt, waiting to slip into my body through any opening it can find. And once it gets in, I'll turn into one of those _things_, and everything I've done so far to survive will have been in vain.

Stubbing my toe on a large rock half-buried in the dirt, I fall to the ground and the air explodes from my lungs with an audible _oomph_. My arms and legs are trembling from exhaustion, and I don't know if I can run for much longer. I think about just lying in the cool dirt to catch my breath and regain my strength, but the sound of stumbling footsteps reaches my ears, and I know that they're close by, waiting to sink their teeth into my skin. They'll eat me alive if I don't manage to get away.

_How much longer can I run, though? I can't keep going like this!_ The thought crosses my mind without permission, and I quickly try to banish it, but it lingers behind, filling my mind with doubt. _I may be doomed, but I sure as hell won't make it easy on them!_

I force my aching limbs to push off from the ground, and slowly but surely, I regain my footing. Without another second of hesitation, I dash off into the nearest clump of trees, hoping to find a river to cross. It might slow them down just long enough for me to get away. My only hope currently rests with a river that for all I know might not even exist. Slapping the branches away to avoid more cuts, I run through the trees, praying to whatever god might be listening that this isn't my last day on earth. I've never been a religious person, but if this isn't a good time to start praying, then what is?

Each step I take feels like it should be my last. The muscles in my legs scream with the effort it takes to push myself forward. My lungs burn with each deep breath I take, and there's a sharp, stabbing pain in my side that makes it nearly impossible to breath. When my vision starts to go hazy, I know that I'm not getting enough oxygen, and I'll need to stop soon or risk passing out. An unconscious meal can't fight back.

Suddenly, a sound catches my attention, and I stop my mad dash to listen. It's faint, but I can just barely make out the sound of rushing water nearby. A massive smile spreads across my face; I can't help it. My feet begin to move in the direction the sound is coming from, and after a few dozen yards, I find myself standing at the edge of a steep bank. Beneath me are rushing rapids.

The water is dark and mysterious, and it swirls around dangerously. Swimming was never my strong suit, but it doesn't look too deep. My feet might be able to touch the bottom if necessary, but the thought of stepping into unknown rapids is not a pleasant one. There could be anything down stream: sharp rocks, rapids that might drown me, or even a waterfall. For all I know, I might die going over the falls.

Something slams into my side, knocking me to the ground. A stick digs into my spine before snapping under the combined weight of myself and the thing on top of me. My hands come up as it lunges down at my, and I press against its chest, trying to keep its teeth from reaching my throat. They snap ravenously at me, making a sharp clicking noise as they come together. Bloody saliva dribbles down its chin, and I turn my head as it falls to the ground beside my face, missing my mouth by mere inches.

A bloody hand reaches for my face, and I swat it away with a hand. I bring up my knee to press against its chest so I can free my hands. One grasps around the dirt at my side, reaching for anything that can be of use, and my fingers close around half of the stick that just snapped beneath me. The bloody hand clasps around my wrist, halting me from bringing the stick up and using it as a weapon. A scream forces its way through my closed lips. It's muffled, but in the silence of the woods, I fear that it may attract more unwanted attention.

I struggle with the creature on top of me for another minute, before finally managing to get my feet under his stomach. Using all the strength I have left, I shove as hard as I can, and send what used to be a man rolling away from me. He growls at nothing in particular while I get to my feet. The stick is tight in my hands, which feel abnormally warm and sweaty.

I've seen people kill them before, but I've never had to do it, and I worry about what will happen if I miss. I'll have just one chance before it's on me again, and next time I probably won't be able to throw him. I shift the stick in my hands so that they pointy end faces away from me, and when the man gets to his knees, I charge at him. Another scream tears from my throat, but this time it isn't one of fear.

It's a war cry.

The man turns his head to stare up at me as I bring the stick down as hard as I can. The sharp end impales him through the left eye, which bursts with a disgusting wet sound. The man shudders once, before slumping to the ground, wrenching the stick from my hands. He stares up at me with eyes that are once again lifeless, and a striking shade of green.

That one thought rushes through my mind, forcing me to take in every single one of his very human features, from his dark green eyes to his dirty and disheveled light blonde hair, all the way down to the crocs he's wearing on his feet. His business suit torn and stained with blood, and even though I know all of the blood probably isn't his, I can't help but feel sorry for the creature I just killed.

My mouth goes paper-dry, and I find myself swallowing rapidly to keep from puking. I try to fight it, but the vomit forces its way up, and I lean on a nearby tree for support as I dry heave. Not much comes up, since I haven't eaten in more than two days, but it sounds noisy and messy, and will no doubt attract more attention than my fight already has.

When my stomach finally settles, I look up and into the trees around me. There are shadows lumbering around clumsily in the trees, marking more foes for me to be wary of. All I have is the other half of the sharp stick, and I know it won't do me much good against more than one of those things. I can't fight them; I don't have the strength or weapons to do it without getting bitten and infected. My only choice is to flee.

Turning my head, I examine the river one more time. The rapids don't look any more inviting than they did the first time I saw them, but my options are gone, and I have no other choice. Taking a deep breath, I run to the edge of the bank and jump, closing my eyes and praying for the best.

The water is frigid cold even in the middle of summer, and the shock of it forces the air from my lungs as cold, dark water closes around me. I claw my way to the surface as the rapids toss me around the river like a rag doll. My back slams into a boulder and I cry out, and my lungs instantly begin to fill with water. The water carries me downstream, unforgiving and cruel as the raw force of it drags me under.

My mind begins to race with each passing second. My lungs burn from lack of sweet oxygen and my vision begins to fade around the edges. All rational thought and movement becomes impossible, and I feel myself sinking to the bottom. The current continues to drag me along, and all of the fight goes out of me.

Everything fades away as I peacefully accept my death, and I resign myself to afterlife. My final thought before everything goes dark is, _At least I won't have to be one of those things..._

**XXXXX**

Sunlight falls inconveniently across my eyes, gently warming my face. It feels so good after days of hiding out in trees and damp caves that I turn over, intent on falling back asleep. If I have a chance to rest, I'm going to take it. When my hand brushes a small pillow, my eyes snap open and I sit up quickly. My head pounds and my vision blurs, and I clutch the sides of my head in my hands, trying to drown out the intense pain and sensitivity.

I groan as everything begins to come back. I remember the run through the woods, the fight with the man, the water, and then darkness. After everything begins to settle, I manage to form one coherent thought: _I should be dead right now._ I should be dead, but for some reason, I'm not. Somehow the water didn't claim me. Somehow I'm not lying in a watery grave at the bottom of a river. Somehow I'm warm and rested, and even though every last inch of me aches and throbs with a dull pain the likes of which I've never felt before, I'm alive.

When the room stops spinning, I sit back down on the small sleeping bag I was wrapped so warmly in, and I take a look around. My resting place seems to be a small gray tent that is filled with little more than the sleeping bag, a small pillow, a knapsack of what looks like clothes, and a canteen. I reach for it slowly, wincing as the muscles in my back scream in protest, and open it. A quick sniff reveals no odor, but there's no way to tell if the water's been drugged or not. My mouth feels bone dry, and I desperately want the water in the canteen, but I can't risk it. I cap it again and set it back down on the ground at the foot of my sleeping bag.

The sound of laughter reaches my ears, and I freeze instinctively. The laugher comes again, and I can't believe what I'm hearing. It sounds like a group of children, and they're not screaming or crying. They're laughing and running around outside my tent. Inching slowly and carefully over to the open clap that allows the sunlight in, I peek out.

There are trees off in the distance, but the tent appears to be in a large clearing. There are a few vehicles parked off to one side of the clearing, and I see an old-looking RV with a name that I can't make out painted on the side in flowing script. If I angle my head, I can just barely make out a man sitting on top of the RV. He's reclining under an umbrella with a rifle in his hands, and my gut clenches painfully at the sight of the gun. However, when I finally take in his features–a tan floppy hat, white hair, and a white full beard–I feel myself start to relax a bit.

_What kind of dangerous group has children running around and an old man on guard?_

The tent flap opens, and a middle-aged woman pokes her head in. Her hair is cut very short, almost boy-like, and even though it's a startlingly gray color, she doesn't look that old. She might be in her mid-forties. She's wearing a pair of khaki pants and a plain tan blouse with short sleeves, revealing thin, bony limbs. Every last bit of her looks fragile, and the lines around her eyes and mouth make her look tense and insecure. But when she sees me up and awake, she smiles, and instantly looks ten years younger and much more carefree.

"You're up," she says calmly, entering the tent the rest of the way. In her hands is a pile of folded clothes, and she sets them down at the foot of the sleeping bag before backing up a bit. For a moment, she doesn't say anything else. She just watches me with a caring, obviously motherly expression in her eyes. She reaches out with a bony hand and sweeps back a strand of dark hair from my face, tucking it behind one ear. The gesture is so gentle, so comforting, and so _normal_ that I feel myself relax all the way. "You must be hungry."

"A little," I say quietly.

"Why don't you come out and have some breakfast. I'm sure the others will be glad to meet you." She turns to exit the tent, and I reach out to stop her.

"Wait!"

She stops and looks over her shoulder at me, confused. Then her eyes widen in surprise and she offers a small, polite laugh. "I'm sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. My name's Carol. And don't worry about the others. They don't bite." The smile fades from her face instantly, and I know she's thinking about those _things_. "I'm sorry," she says again, though this time she looks down and refuses to meet my eyes. "You can change into those clothes and join us when you're ready."

She ducks out of the tent quickly and without another word. I watch her go, surprised at the immediate change in her personality, and wonder what could have possibly been the cause of it. I wasn't exactly open and friendly, but I certainly wasn't being rude or hostile. I shake off thoughts of the older woman, and reach for the clothes at the foot of my sleeping bag. They're standard blue jeans, a black t-shirt, and my dried sneakers. When I see my shoes, I look down at myself, startled to find I'm wearing an over-sized holy shirt as a nightgown and little else.

Dressing in a hurry, I exit the tent. The bright sunlight hurts my eyes at first, and I squint, fighting tears. When my vision clears, I find myself standing at the edge of a camp full of busy and bustling people of all kinds. A dark-skinned woman rushes by me with an armful of damp clothes, and she begins to string them up on a makeshift clothesline with quick and efficient fingers.

There are two campfire pits settled in the center of the camp, and one has a small fire going. A tall, thin, dark-haired woman crouches down beside the fire. She pokes at a pan of what looks like pancakes, and she looks up. Our eyes meet, and instead of a friendly smile like Carol gave me, this woman's eyes narrow just a bit, and she looks at me with obvious suspicion. I wonder for a second what could bring such a subtle change over her, but I get my answer when a young boy plops down beside her. This woman has a child with her, and is obviously worried about my presence.

_If I had kids, I'd probably react the same way to anyone that came near me…_

Carol joins the woman at the fire, and she waves me over. I don't want to step on this other woman's toes, but my stomach is growling so loudly I'm surprised everyone around me can't hear it. I come up meekly beside Carol, and she offers me another friendly smile, looking much happier than she did just moments ago in my tent. She hands me a plate of pancakes and a plastic fork. "Sorry we don't have any syrup. We're lucky we have pancake mix. It's kind of a treat we have once in a while, when someone finds a box of mix during a supply raid."

The pancakes are dry and pretty tasteless, but that doesn't matter. I wolf it down in minutes, and the little boy watches me with fascination. "Wow! How did you do that?" he asks excitedly, leaning closer to me. Instead of tensing, his mother actually relaxes a bit, and she goes back to cooking more pancakes over the fire.

"I'm sorry," I said, swallowing a mouthful of pancake. "I haven't eaten in days."

"You could probably eat more, huh?" Carol asks kindly. She frowns and touches my arm lightly, and hands me a can of fruit cocktail that is already half-empty. "We don't have a lot of food here, so you'll have to wait until lunch to have any more."

"Have you all eaten?" I ask politely, not wanting my saviors to go hungry just because I haven't eaten in a while. "I don't want anyone else to go without because of me."

Carol waves off my worries. "Don't worry. We'll manage. Everyone here understands how tough our situation is." She turns her attention to the tall, incredibly thin woman. "Lori, are you still planning to go mushroom hunting?"

She nods curtly. "As soon as Amy gets back. Hopefully between the two of us we can find enough to go around." Lori looks at her son and smiles. "Carl, while I'm gone, I want you to stay in camp and always in Dale's line of sight, alright?" When he just nods, she prods him gently. "Carl?"

"Alright," he mumbles quietly. "Can I go play with Sophia now?"

She ruffles his hair. "Yes. Just be careful." When he dashes off to play with a young blonde-haired girl, Lori looks over at Carol. "Will you keep an eye on him while I'm gone? I worry about him; he never seems to listen to anything anyone other than Shane tells him."

Carol nods. "Of course," she says softly. "Just go. We'll all be fine until you get back."

Lori grabs a red bucket, gets to her feet and walks away, disappearing into the trees and leaving me and Carol alone at the fire. She takes a spatula and flips a pancake to check the underside, before sliding it off the fire and onto a sturdy paper plate. She adds more batter to the pan before looking at me again. "I didn't get a chance to ask your name earlier," she says, staring at me intently. Her eyes are a beautiful grayish blue, and are a little unnerving to look into.

"Um, Alexis. Alex," I say quickly, wanting to not be called by my full name. The only person that ever called me Alexis was my father, and now that he's gone…I banish those thoughts, refusing to think about my family. They're all long gone, and if I'm not careful, I'll end up like them.

"Um, I think your pancake is burning."

Carol's eyes widen and she hurries to flip it. The bottom is a little burnt, but it still looks perfectly edible. Her hand begins to tremble just a little, and her head tilts up a bit. Her entire body freezes, and I look in the direction she's facing. A man is leaning against the side of the RV with his thick arms crossed over his chest. His gut presses against the dirty fabric of his wife-beater, and a lit cigarette perches between thin lips. One of his knuckles looks bruised, and my eyes immediately slide over to Carol, looking for the corresponding bruise on her body.

The man uncrosses his arms and walks over to the fire with the cocky arrogant walk of a man that believes he's god's greatest gift to women. He stops at the edge of the fire, and for a minute, he just stands there without saying anything. Finally, he speaks with a gruff, low, dangerous voice. "You outta pay more attention to what you're s'posed to be doin'. You think I wanna eat burned shit?" He spits into the dirt at Carol's feet. "Answer me!"

She doesn't react other than to hang her head even lower. "I'm sorry, Ed. I'll eat the burned one."

"Now see, we ain't got enough food to go wastin' any 'cause you can't cook worth a damned," he says coldly.

I'm torn about what to do. I've seen enough men in my nineteen years to know that he'll do or say anything to put Carol down. I also know that the second I speak up, I'll most likely make her into a target. Men like that always find a way to blame their wives or children for their own faults or anything that goes wrong, and I don't want to give him another reason to mistreat her. But she's been nothing but nice to me, and I can't just sit here and be ignored.

So I speak up. "It's my fault the food got burned," I say lightly, trying to pretend like I don't know what kind of man he is. "I was asking her all sorts of questions, and she was trying to get me to stop so she could concentrate, but I just wouldn't listen. If you wanna blame someone, blame me," I say with a light chuckle. "I tend to talk too much when I'm nervous."

His eyes zero in on me, and he scowls. "Don't think I asked for your input." He flicks his cigarette, dropping ashes into the ground near the plate of pancakes, missing what little food is there by centimeters. "Frankly, it don't matter that you were wasting her time. She knows better. Or at least she aught to," he said, glaring at Carol, who shrinks back under his reproachful glare.

My hands clench into fists at my side.

"Problem, Ed?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

A tall, muscular man walks over to the fire. There's a black handgun tucked into the front of his pants, which are pulled up high over his waist. His hair is dark and curly, and it looks like he hasn't shaved in a few days. He stands tall and proud–this man is obviously used to being in a position of authority, and I doubt many people have ever disobeyed or angered him on purpose. The look in his eyes doesn't allow for a dissenting opinion. "Problem, Ed?" he repeats when it becomes obvious that Ed doesn't intend to reply.

"No," Ed says stiffly. His hands are clenched as tightly as my own, and he quickly looks away from this new man, backing down in an instant. Ed turns his gaze back to Carol. "Why don't you get back to cookin' and stop wastin' time?" He phrases it as a question, but I know it's not. It's a command, and he'll hang around long enough to make sure she carries it out.

Carol hurries to do as she's told, and Ed slinks away, stopping only to spit at Carol's feet once more. The man with the gun shakes his head, either in pity for Carol or contempt for Ed, and he looks at me. He smiles, looking much more friendly and personable as he crouches down beside the fire. "How are you feeling today?" His dark brown eyes stare into mine as he waits patiently for an answer.

"Fine," I say, silently wondering how many people will ask me that today.

He offers me a large hand to shake. It's warm and calloused, but surprisingly gentle. "Shane."

"Alex," I say, letting go of his hand. He leans back to give me some room, and he eyes flick over to Carol. She's bent over the small campfire, diligently cooking food, pretending that both Shane and I didn't just witness Ed's atrocious behavior.

"You look much better than when I found you," he says, startling me. "You looked half-dead when I fished you out of that river. You're lucky I was scouting in the area, or else you would have drowned in that river. What possessed you to try and swim that? Didn't you see how treacherous the water was?"

"It was better to risk the water than stay on land and get eaten alive." Carol tenses up, but doesn't look away from the pancake in the pan. "I managed to kill one with a stick, but there were others in the trees, and I knew I couldn't take on more than one at a time. So, I jumped into the river, hoping I would be able to swim to safety. I was wrong."

"Well, take some time to look around. Meet some of the people here, get used to the layout of camp. Eventually you'll have to start pitching in; everyone here does something. Carol helps cook, do laundry, and helps teach the kids. Maybe you could follow her around for a little bit, until you're comfortable enough to get around on your own."

I nod my head. "Okay. If you think that's what I should do." I look over at Carol, who still hasn't said a word since before Ed left. "If that's alright with you, Carol."

She doesn't look up. "That's fine. I'll look after her, Shane."

Shane puts his hat back on his head. "Carol, you let me know if Ed gives you any trouble." Judging by the tone of his voice, I can tell he knows she won't, but will ask her to anyways, just in case there's the slightest chance that she'll come to him. "Have a nice day, ladies." He walks away with his hand on his belt, near his gun, and he wanders off into the forest. I'm not sure what he thinks he can do out there, but I don't even care. I'm more worried that Carol will get in trouble because of what I said to Ed.

"Carol, are you alright?"

She looks at me. "I'll be alright." Her voice is so quiet and timid that I want to just reach out and hug her, but I don't want to touch her without permission. "I have to finish making breakfast for the others, and then I'll check in on the kids. There's really nothing you can do here. How about you go introduce yourself to some of the others here."

"I'm not much of a people person," I mutter, looking around at all of the people that are trying to go about their day. "And they all look so busy. I don't want to disturb them."

"Nonsense," she says, refusing to take no for an answer. "You shouldn't be stuck here with me all morning. Why don't you start with Dale–he's the man on top of the RV. He's a friendly guy, and he'll be able to answer any questions you might have about this place."

I look over at the RV, and spot Dale. He's still sitting in a lawn chair beneath an umbrella, and the rifle looks like it hasn't moved from his lap since I first peeked out my tent flap. "Is it safe to just walk around with no weapons? Not that I have any, but I mean–"

"It's as safe as it can be," she says sadly. "Don't worry. Dale's always on lookout, and there are others in the camp that have weapons. Shane, Jim, Morales, T-Dog, and Glenn usually have something on them. If anything does happen, Dale will spot the danger long before it becomes a problem. No more stalling. Go."

Slowly I make my way to the RV, thinking as I go along. _Carol seems so much more open when Ed isn't around. She doesn't cower or hold herself back. I wonder what she would be like without him to keep her down._ I feel weird thinking such things, because I'm not the one married to Ed, and I don't have any right to intrude in her personal life. Things like this will always be a touchy subject, because Carol isn't a child. She's a grown woman, and would ask for help if she wanted it.

_Right?_

Shaking my head, I start to climb up the ladder to the roof of the RV. When I reach the top, Dale offers me a hand, and he helps me to my feet. I take a seat on the roof of the RV beside him, and he smiles down at me with a friendly look in his eyes. "Glad to see you up and around. When Shane brought you back, I thought for sure you'd be out of it for a few days."

"How long _was_ I out?"

"The rest of the day Shane found you, that night, and early this morning. Not nearly as long as everyone thought." He looks me over, and he spots the bandaging on my arms and wrists from the thorny branches in the woods. My feet are bandaged lightly as well, and I didn't even bother to ask who did it. "Do you know who bandaged me? I didn't really get a chance to ask who did it."

Dale offers me another friendly smile. "I believe it was Carol. She's got a bit of a knack for caring for others. She's a good woman."

"She's got an evil husband," I say flatly. There's no use pretending that Dale didn't see the whole exchange between us, Ed, and Shane. "How many people around here know about the way he treats her?"

"Quite a few. I see everything that goes on in camp, sitting up here all day with my umbrella, rifle, and binoculars. I've tried to talk to her about it," he says sadly. "But she likes to keep to herself about her problems. Shane noticed the first day he met Carol and Ed. He's a former police officer you know."

"Ed?" I ask, shocked.

"No, Shane. He was partnered with Lori's husband. When the infection started to spread, he got Lori and her boy Carl out of the city, and he started picking up other survivors along the way. Unfortunately, the world's in a pretty bad place right now. So bad that we can't afford to pick and choose survivors. We'll need every available person to rebuild our society. Even men like Ed may have a place once this is all over with." He falls silent, and I look out at the camp spread out below us.

Everyone seems so at peace, so carefree. Some of them even manage to look happy. From my spot on top of the RV, I can see a tan-skinned man hug his wife and two young children. She kisses her husband on the cheek, and he walks off with a pickaxe over his shoulder. "Morales and his family," Dale says, startling me. "Everyone is always happy to find anyone with kids. Most don't want to think about what happened to the other kids in the world."

He's right. The thought of what happened to all the young babies and children in the world is a sickening one, and it makes my stomach roll. Biting down on my lip, I fight back the nausea that threatens to overwhelm me. I refuse to show any signs of weakness in this new place in front of all these new people. I don't want them to think I'm too weak to pull my own weight, or they might not let me stay.

"This is the safest place I've been in weeks."

Dale sighs. "There's so few places left in this world that are safe. I was glad when we found this one. Shane took over and he dictated work for everyone, and he organized scouting parties and scavenging parties. We've managed to survive out here. Hopefully this can become a semi-permanent home for us until this all blows over."

"You think that's what'll happen? That this infection will all just go away? That all we have to do is outlast it? What if it's here to stay? What happens if it never goes away, or if there's never a cure? We could be facing our extinction."

He shakes his head. "I have hope for humanity. We're not going to go down without a fight. Someone somewhere will find a cure, and then we can begin rebuilding the human race. People will be able to start over fresh, and this will all just become a distant nightmare." He goes quiet again, and I think of some other topic to talk about that isn't as morbid.

_Though it is refreshing talking to someone that still has hope for humanity…_

"So, how does a group this size manage to stay fed? I would think it would take a mountain of food to keep everyone somewhat happy and healthy."

"We ration everything. There's a lake down the way," he says, nodding his head, "and we boil that for drinking water. We use it to wash our clothes, too. Then we have a man in our group that goes out hunting for game; he usually brings back squirrels, rabbits, or anything else he can kill. And we have a young man by the name of Glenn that makes trips into the city for canned goods. We're careful, so we manage."

_He sounds so positive._ "How does one hunter manage to catch enough food for a group this size? I mean, that's a lot of mouths to feed, right?"

"Well, fresh meat is a rarity around here, since we only have the one hunter. His older brother could pitch in and hunt too, but he's usually too high to be of much help to anyone. Better that he doesn't have any weapons on him while he's in camp. But, Daryl does fairly well while on his hunting trips. Merle's more selfish, though."

_Merle?_ I almost laugh. _Who names their kid Merle? I wouldn't name a dog Merle!_ I start to giggle, and Dale grins at me, happy just to see someone else smiling. I always loved those kinds of people that managed to be happy for another person's happiness. They were almost always all-around good people. People you could depend on in a fix.

"Well, speak of the devil," Dale says, sitting forward. His smile is gone, replaced by a concerned frown. A man walks past the RV, and he stops long enough to offer Dale a mocking salute. The man looks to be in his early to mid forties, with short, gray hair, and light blue eyes. He sniffs loudly and wipes his thumb under his nose, before shoving a plastic baggie of something into his vest pocket.

"Is that Merle?"

Dale nods. "Yeah, and it looks like he's thinking about going on the supply run that's about to leave." Dale is obviously concerned about the others on the supply run, and he leans forward to check out a group of people standing near the edge of the camp.

The group consists of a young Asian man in a baseball cap, Morales, the dark-skinned woman that walked by with the laundry earlier, a blonde woman in her mid-thirties, Merle, and a dark-skinned man in shorts, sneakers, and a t-shirt. Every one of them looks uneasy at Merle's presence, but nobody says anything, and the group heads out to go on their supply run.

Dale watches them through his binoculars until he loses sight of them, and he collapses back into the folding chair. "Well, I think I should probably go find some way to contribute to the group, seeing as I'm hoping to stay. It was nice meeting you," I say, lowering myself to the ladder.

"Miss? I didn't catch your name."

I peek back up over the edge of the rooftop and give him a smile. "Alex. Alex Cooper."

"Be careful around here, Alex. And if you ever wanna talk, just come find me. I'll listen."

**XXXXX**

It takes me almost twenty minutes to find someone with work to do. Lori comes back from her mushroom hunt with no mushrooms in her bucket, and she hands me a stack of dried clothes to fold. She and I work diligently without talking, and I keep looking around the camp, eagerly awaiting the return of the supply group. Lori and I quickly finish the laundry. She gives me a somewhat friendly clap on the shoulder, before shooing me off to look for more work while she takes care of Carl.

Lunch comes and goes, and there's no sign of the group, but nobody other than Amy looks too worried, and Dale tells me that her older sister Andrea is the blonde woman on the supply run. When a few hours pass by, everyone in camp starts to cast nervous glances at one another as they try to stay out of the rain. I'm tucked up neatly beside Dale underneath his large umbrella and a blanket, and I can't help but notice that he looks at the road leading out of the quarry every few minutes as if he's hoping they'll appear out of thin air.

Suddenly, a crackly voice comes through on the camp's radio, and Shane rushes to answer. There's so much static and white noise that nobody can make out what the person on the other end is saying, and he asks them to repeat while he fiddles with some knobs on the radio. Everyone in camp fidgets nervously, and people begin whispering to one another. Finally, a man's voice comes through loud and clear.

"We're trapped in the department store! There are geeks all around!"

Everyone in the camp falls silent. Amy is the first to break that silence. She begins to sob, and Lori puts her arm around the younger girl's shoulders. Shane's hand tightens around the radio so tightly I can hear it creak, and I'm worried he might break it by accident. When the radio goes dead, he looks at Amy and sighs.

"We have to go after them!" Amy says. Her voice is shaky, but she's pleading with Shane, and she doesn't look like she'll take no for an answer.

"We can't risk it," Shane says regretfully.

"She's my sister, you asshole."

"I'm sorry Amy, but we can't risk it. They knew the risks when they agreed to go. You heard what T-Dog said. They're surrounded by walkers. Even if we could get to them, there's no way we could get them out safely. I'm sorry," Shane says. He's pleading with Amy just as much as she's pleading with him. He's begging her to understand that his hands are tied.

Amy's hands tremble at her sides, and for a second, I worry that she'll try to hit him. After a long few seconds, her entire body relaxes, and she turns on her heel and walks away from him. Everyone sees her crying, but surprisingly, nobody goes after her. Nobody reaches out to comfort her. They just allow her to walk right by, upset and scared. Amy disappears into a small blue tent and zips the flap, but I can still hear her muffled cries through the thin fabric.

Everyone splits off to do their own thing. I think some will go pray for those stuck at the department store, and others will look for anything to do to keep their minds off of their friends' fates. "Shane–"

"Lori, we can't," Shane says softly. "They knew the risks, and I don't think they would want any of us to die trying some rescue attempt. There's nothing we can do." Lori shakes her head, and Shane puts a hand on her shoulder. The touch might look like one friend comforting another, but I see more than just friendship in Shane's eyes. There's intimacy, devotion, and even love. When Lori shakes him off, his eyes harden just a little, and he steps away from her. "I'm sorry, Lori."

"I don't want your excuses."

She storms away from Shane and closes herself in a tent with Carl, leaving me and Shane alone at the radio. He glances at me out of the corner of his eye, as if just now noticing that I'm standing right there. He clears his throat, managing to look ashamed and embarrassed at the same time, and he walks away from me without an explanation, not that I would have asked him for one.

_I wonder how long they've been sleeping together…_

Shaking my head, I make my way back to the RV, where Dale is still sitting under his umbrella. He scoots over to give me some more room under the umbrella, and he hands me a small washcloth. It's nice and dry, and I use it to dry off my arms, face, and neck. When I hand it back to Dale after drying off, I nod my head in Lori's general direction. "I thought…" I'm not sure how to start this question without sounding like a judgmental bitch, but I have to know. "I thought Lori had a husband."

Dale nods his head. "He died in the initial wave. She said he was in a coma, and that he died when the hospital got overrun. Shane took it upon himself as her husband's partner to get Lori and Carl out of the city. Said if he couldn't save his partner he was gonna save his partner's family."

"Well, that's…noble."

"Being on the run and constantly afraid and in danger, it makes two people grow closer together in a short span of time. Lori's devastated over the loss of her husband, and I think she just wants someone to take her mind off it." He meets my eyes, and I see kindness and understanding. "She loves her husband, and that will probably never change. But people deal with grief in different ways, Alex. She was desperate for affection."

"Well, I guess I can't blame her for wanting someone to comfort her during the end of the world. If I had a kid to worry about, and my husband was never coming back, I'd probably be pretty upset too. Don't know if I'd jump into bed with my late husband's partner, but to each their own, I guess. You know, I'll bet that's why she came back from mushroom hunting with no mushrooms earlier."

Dale chuckles softly. "That would probably be why."

"They don't want Carl to know."

"Of course not. He's just a kid, who still misses his father something awful. I'm sure Lori thinks it would just cause him unnecessary pain. I may not agree with what she's doing right now, but that woman is willing to do anything for her son. She'd protect her child with her last breath."

"Do they know that you know about them?"

Dale shakes his head. "I don't think so. And as far as I know, I'm the only one that's noticed. Everyone else is always busy doing their work, and I'm always sitting up here, watching everyone and making sure this place is safe. Because of that, I tend to notice more things than others. I've seen them sneaking off into the woods to be alone, and I've seen the way Shane looks at her and Carl."

"He loves her."

"I think he loves both of them." Dale lapses into silence and the two of us sit on top of the RV, neither of us saying a word. Dale watches over the rest of the camp, trying to make sure that we're as safe as we can possibly be, and I kill time daydreaming about life before the infection started. I think about my friends, my family, my home, my life.

_Nothing will ever be the same again…_

A couple of hours later, Dale frowns, and leans forward in his chair, placing his binoculars to his eyes.

"Dale, what's wrong?"

"Shhh," he says. "Do you hear that?"

A loud noise echoes off the canyon walls that surround the quarry, and it quickly draws the attention of everyone around the campsite. "It sounds like a car alarm. What's it doing way out here? Do you think it could be other survivors?"

"Stolen car, no doubt."

A bright red car tears up the road, kicking up dust and other debris, before skidding to a stop at the edge of camp. The Asian man, Glenn, hops out of the driver's side, but the alarm doesn't turn off. He and Shane argue about it, and Glenn tries to pop the hood but Amy keeps pestering him with questions about her sister. When Glenn finally manages to pop the hood, Shane fiddles with something, and the alarm shuts off.

A van pulls up behind the car and Glenn smiles. Andrea, the blond woman, is the first person to jump out of the back of the van, and she and Amy run to one another. Morales goes to his wife and kids, and they swarm him. He picks up his young kids and balances one on each hip, hugging them both tightly.

Glenn and Shane are still talking, but I'm not paying attention to either of them. Instead, I focus on the driver of the truck as he steps out. The driver isn't Merle, the only member of the supply group that is unaccounted for. It's a man in a police officer's uniform, and his eyes lock on someone in disbelief. He staggers back a step as a young boy yells, "Dad!"

The officer scoops Carl up and holds him close, while Lori stares on in disbelief. She walks forward slowly, as if in some kind of trance, and the officer's arms wrap around her, and the three of them just stand there holding one another, swaying back and forth and crying. Everyone in the camp looks shocked and confused, but nobody looks more shocked than Lori. She looks up over her husband's shoulder, and her eyes meet Shane's. In them I see guilt and a wordless accusation.

"She's got some explaining to do," I say quietly.

Dale nods his head, but he doesn't take his eyes off of Carl and his father. "Yeah, she does."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The following morning, I help Carol cook breakfast for the rest of the campsite while Lori hangs up laundry to dry nearby. Carl and Carol's daughter Sophia are playing with a pack of cards in the dirt nearby, and Carol keeps a well-practiced eye on them, never missing anything the two of them do. She notices ever move they make or think about making, and she keeps them mostly quiet and content throughout the morning. However, once breakfast is done and they've eaten, Jacqui takes them out into the woods to pick berries at the edge of the camp under the watchful eyes of Dale from the roof of the RV.

Officer Rick Grimes steps out of a nearby tent, and the first thing he does is pause to look around, much I did when I first woke up here. He offers a few polite nods to people passing by, but once he spots Lori, he walks straight to her, and the two of them have a whispered conversation. I can't hear what the two of them are saying from my spot beside Carol and the fire where we're finishing our breakfast, but it looks like the two of them are arguing.

_I wonder if it's about Shane. Would Lori have told him that the night her husband came back? No, she probably would have wanted to just enjoy him being back and alive. She'll wait to tell him some other time, not that it's any of my business. But I wonder what they're fighting about if it isn't Shane?_

A young girl starts to scream, and a young boy quickly follows. Shane and Rick race for the trees, stopping only long enough to grab some kind of weapon. Lori, Carol, and I all run after the men. I'm not sure what good I can do with only a small knife in my pocket that Dale found for me, but I'm not thinking about the danger to myself. All I see is Sophia or Carl–two little kids in a strange, frightening world–being eaten or torn apart. If there's a chance that I can help, I'll take it and worry about my safety later.

Knife in hand, I leap over a low-hanging rope with tin cans strung up to act as an alarm system, and I stop in a small clearing. Sophia and Carl run crying to their mother's with a breathless and scared Jacqui right behind them. Looking over Jacqui's shoulder, I see something lying on the ground a few yards away. There's a dead deer on the ground, and one of those things–a _walker_ according to Dale–has its head buried in the deer's stomach, and is gnawing away at the poor animal slowly but surely.

The walker pulls its head out of the deer's carcass and fixes one yellowish eye on us. Most of its hair is gone from its head, but what's left is long, dirty, and stringy. He's missing a few of his front teeth, but it doesn't seem to hinder him from tearing chunks out of the deer's flesh. Its teeth gnash together as it looks from each of us to the next, and it slowly gets to its feet, abandoning the dead deer for a much fresher meal.

As it slowly shuffles forward, all I can think about is the walker at the river. It was the first one I killed, and even though it wasn't entirely human and I had no choice, it still upset me greatly. Strangely enough, I haven't thought about it until now. Picturing the dead man causes me to pause, and I hang back to let Rick and Shane handle it themselves. Rick goes straight for the head with his metal rod, aiming to kill it directly, but I notice that Shane slams the end of his shotgun into its back over and over again, driving it down to the ground. Dale steps in with an axe and neatly beheads the thing before stepping back and casting a worried glance at Shane.

Nobody has time to relax now that the walker has been taken care of, because the bushes nearby begin to rustle, and everyone instantly brings up their weapons. I shift the knife in my hand so that I can stab with it instead of slice, and I block out the sounds of Sophia and Carl whimpering to their mothers, and I block out the sounds of Shane and Dale's harsh breathing. Instead, I focus on calming my own shallow breathing, and I ready myself for a fight.

Instead of a walker, a man steps out of the bushes. His eyes are focused on the tracks on the ground and the crossbow in his hands, but it takes him only a second to notice the group standing before him. When he does, he calmly stares Shane down, showing no signs of fear at having half a dozen weapons aimed at him. It almost looks like he's smirking just a bit. Then his gaze falls on the half-eaten deer nearby.

The transformation is incredibly and immediate. His eyes narrow and his chest heaves as his hands clench into rough fists at his sides. "That's my deer!" He starts to kick the headless body of the walker, cursing and shouting and acting like an angry fool. When Dale tells him to calm down, he turns his anger on Dale and shouts something I don't catch.

My attention is fixed on the head of the walker. Its eyes open suddenly, and someone behind me screams. A small whimper of fear escapes before I can clench my jaws shut, and I take a quick step back. A soft, gentle hand touches my arm, and I look back into Lori's anxious face. One of her hands is wrapped tightly around Carl's shoulders, and she's trying to shield him from having to look at the walker. "Come on," she says softly. "You don't have to stay and watch this if it bothers you."

"What the hell people? It's gotta be the head," he says, firing one bolt into the walker's brain. He slings his crossbow over one incredibly broad shoulder, braces one foot against the walker's head, and wrenches the bolt free. He makes a face as he wipes it clean on a rag from his back pocket. Finally everything clicks, and I realize that he must be the hunter Dale told me about earlier–Daryl Dixon.

Daryl turns and fixes clear blue eyes on me. Surprisingly, he snorts once and shakes his head. "Pickin' up another stray?"

"I found her while out on a scouting trip," Shane says tightly. "Fished her out of the river. I couldn't just leave her there half-drowned and disoriented. She would have died. I couldn't have that on my conscience. Unlike you I actually have one."

Daryl shakes his head angrily and picks up a string of what looks like a dozen or so fat squirrels. "Just another mouth to feed. Ain't enough food to go around as is."

"I don't eat much," I say, surprising myself. Normally I would shrink away from an angry man like him, but what he says is infuriating me. He basically just said that Shane should have left me to die by the river, and thoughts like that don't seem to even faze him. "I won't be a problem."

"You don't have to explain yourself to him," Lori says. "He dislikes everyone in camp. Don't take it personally. The only person he cares about is…Merle." Lori stops, seeming to finally remember that Merle didn't come back with the others. She looks at Rick, who sighs and walks after Daryl. Everyone follows Rick and Daryl back to camp. Lori looks anxious. Shane looks prepared for another angry outburst from Daryl, and Dale looks ready to try and make peace.

"Daryl," Rick says, trying to get Daryl's attention.

"Merle! Get out here. Got us some squirrel! Merle?"

Rick steps up behind him. "Daryl, I need to have a word with you. It's about Merle."

Daryl stops and he finally seems to notice Rick. "Who are you?"

"My name is Rick Grimes."

"Rick _Grimes_?" I notice that Daryl's eyes flick over to Lori and Carl with some kind of faint recognition, before settling on Rick again. "You got something to say?"

"There was a problem. In Atlanta."

Daryl frowns. "Is he dead?"

"I don't know," Rick admits honestly.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Daryl shouts, startling everyone in camp. "He either is or he ain't. Which is it?"

"I handcuffed him to the roof–"

"And you left him there?" Daryl interrupts, taking an angry step closer.

"He gave me no choice."

I expect Daryl to explode, throw a tantrum like he did when he noticed his deer, but he doesn't. Instead, it looks like he's about to cry. His face screws up just a bit, and his eyes get a glassy look to them, like he's holding back tears. Everyone in camp looks startled by his reaction to being told his brother got left behind.

Suddenly Daryl whirls around, and his hand lashes out. The next thing I know, he throws the string of dead squirrels at Rick and runs at him, intending to tackle him to the ground. The squirrels fly past Rick and hit me in the chest, leaving blood and squirrel hair plastered to my chest, neck, and arms. Shane comes barreling out of nowhere and slams Daryl to the ground before backing off to give him room to cool down. Daryl reaches into his belt and pulls out a huge hunting knife with one serrated edge. It looks lethal if Daryl's capable hands and he slashes once at Rick, forcing him to back up.

Shane gets behind him and wraps one arm around Daryl's neck, kicking his legs out from underneath him. Daryl crumples to the dirt and Rick darts in, taking the knife from his hand and tossing it away. "Chokehold's against the rules."

"Sue me," Shane says, tightening his grip around Daryl's throat. Finally, Daryl relaxes, and Shane lets him slump forward, making sure to step out of his way in case Daryl does anything stupid. But he doesn't. He just sits there in the dirt and wipes his hand across his eyes, before glaring at everyone around him, as if silently daring us to call him out on his tears.

Rick crouches down and peers into Daryl's eyes. He's still sitting in the dirt like a petulant child, but he looks up at Rick. "You of all people should know that your brother does not play well with others. I did what I had to for the good of the group."

"If that's supposed to make me feel better it don't!" Daryl gets to his feet, and Shane readies himself for another fight. All he does though is retrieve his hunting knife and the line of squirrels from the dirt nearby. Tucking the knife into his belt, he looks over his shoulder at Rick.

"Maybe this will," T-Dog says. "I stopped long enough to chain the door shut. With a padlock. The staircase is narrow. Maybe three or four geeks can get at it at once. He should still be there, up on that roof."

I don't feel like standing around to watch Daryl's imminent breakdown over the loss of his brother, so I move toward the RV. Dale is perched on top once more, and he motions for me to sit down beside him. Dale offers me a bottle of water, and I take a small sip of it. "Is Daryl always so charming?" I ask dryly. He and Rick are arguing still, but Daryl isn't the only one that looks pissed off. Shane is looking at Rick with surprise and open hostility.

"Daryl's quick to anger and slow to calm down," Dale says. "But he's an invaluable resource here. He can hunt, he can shoot, and he can track. He's a pure survivalist."

"You think there's good in him," I say, surprised. "I've only spoken to him once, and even I can see there isn't. Dale, he's angry, volatile, and racist. Did you see the way he looked at T-Dog? He's the same as Merle–just without the drugs. Do you honestly think there could be a good person underneath all of that hate and anger?"

Dale thinks it over carefully. "If he could let people in, I think you would all be surprised."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, he doesn't _have_ to hunt for all of us. He and Merle could have just gone off and made their own little camp. It would have been a lot easier for them. But Daryl persuaded Merle to stay with this group." Dale lowers his voice and looks at me. "I've only been close to Daryl on a few occasions, but I've noticed scars along his back and arms. Growing up like that, with an older brother like Merle, it's probably a miracle that Daryl isn't an axe murderer. He was raised a certain way, but I think deep down, there's a good man beneath all the hatred and anger. I think he'd surprise you, if given the opportunity."

Shaking my head, I watch Daryl throw some supplies into the back of the moving van Rick brought back from Atlanta. With Daryl is Glenn, T-Dog, and of course Rick. Lori and Shane don't look happy with Rick, but Rick seems determined to go. Rick takes Lori off to one side and pleads with her, but she just gets angrier and angrier, not that I blame her. If I had a husband that came back from the dead, I wouldn't want him to ever leave my side again. When Lori storms away from him, Rick turns to Shane, takes a handful of bullets, and hops into the truck with the others.

Shane stands at the edge of camp and watches the van disappear from sight. Shaking his head, he turns and stalks off in a huff, heading off to find something to do to keep himself busy. I sigh and glance over at Dale. "I think you're wrong about Daryl, but perhaps I'll give it some thought later. For now, I should go find something to keep myself busy. I feel bad if I'm not helping out around here like everyone else."

Dale nods. "Be careful."

Looking for work, I head down to the nearby quarry, where I find a group of people washing clothes in the water. Carol sees me and waves me over. I take a seat on a small rock beside her, grab a dirty shirt from a basket, and start to scrub it with a brush under the water. With Carol are Andrea, Jacqui, and Amy. All of them are quietly washing clothes or wringing them out.

"So, Rick chose to go after Merle?" I ask finally, looking at the other women around me. "It doesn't seem worth it, does it? I mean, they barely got out of there alive the first time," I say, looking at Andrea. "Right? So why would Rick wanna go back and risk getting himself, Glenn, or T-Dog killed? Is one racist drug-addicted redneck really worth it?"

"Apparently Rick dropped a bag of guns while in the city," Jacqui says, placing a damp shirt over a flat rock to dry in the sun. "That's what he's going back for, I think. Merle just happens to be on the way. Did you all see the look on Lori's face when Rick told her that he was leaving? I thought she was gonna hit him."

"Jacqui, she just got her husband back," Amy says, slapping a pair of pants against a washboard. "If I were her, I wouldn't let him out of my sight. Especially if it wasn't just me he was leaving. Carl's been in their tent all morning, refusing to come out. Lori finally had to drag him out so she could give him a haircut."

Carol smiles. "That boy looks adorable with his longer hair. I don't know why she insists on cutting it."

"He _is_ a cute kid," I say, scrubbing a dirty spot out of a pair of jeans. "He takes more after his mom, I think."

"His dad sure is a looker, though," Amy says quietly, folding a pair of jeans. "Those blue eyes and that badge and gun," she sighs wistfully. "I always liked a man in uniform."

Andrea snorts. "You would."

Amy throws a wet shirt at Andrea, and she throws it back, laughing. "I miss being able to just mess around with friends," Amy says, leaning back against a rock to wash a pair of socks. "I miss my cell phone, and texting."

"I miss my coffee maker with a built in grinder, honey," Jacqui says. "Mmm."

Andrea pauses from the pair of pants she's scrubbing and looks up. "I miss my vibrator," she says, laughing when the rest of us laugh together.

Carol hesitates for only a second before admitting, "Me, too."

Everyone laughs, and I laugh with them. Carol doesn't seem like the kind of woman to joke about something like that, which makes it all the funnier. As we're laughing over her admission, I notice Ed walking over, and I gently elbow Carol to give her a heads up. She glances over her shoulder, then ducks her head and goes back to washing laundry.

"What's so funny?" Ed asks, stopping to flick cigarette ashes on the ground near Carol.

Andrea sighs. "Just swapping war stories, Ed." She goes back to washing a pair of pants, probably hoping that if she ignores him hard enough he'll go away. But I know that won't work. I've seen enough men like Ed in my lifetime to know that being ignored will just piss him off, and Carol will most likely pay for it. Andrea looks over her shoulder, spots Ed watching her with interest, and sighs again. "Problem, Ed?"

"This ain't no comedy club. You should be workin', not wastin' time."

Andrea gets to her feet. "If you don't like the way I work, you can do it yourself," she says, tossing him a pair of wet pants. He balls it up and throws it back in her face. Andrea gasps, and Amy gets to her feet, trying to calm her older sister. "What is your problem?" Andrea snaps, pushing Amy to one side so she can get a clear view of Ed.

He shakes his head, and looks at Carol. "Let's go."

Carol meekly puts down her clothes and gets to her feet, but Andrea steps in front of her. "I don't think she has to go anywhere with you, Ed."

He puffs on his cigarette, flicks the ashes, and looks her right in the eye. "Hey, don't think I won't knock you on your ass, just 'cause you some college-educated coose." He shakes his head angrily and looks at Carol. "Don't make me tell you again. Let's go." Looking at the other women, he adds, "This ain't none of your business."

"Is she gonna show up with fresh bruises later?" Jacqui asks, stepping closer to Carol. I put a hand on gently on Carol's shoulder, and even though she flinches, she doesn't move away from me. "Yeah, we've all seen them, Ed."

Ed takes an angry step forward, and I think he means to hit either Andrea or Jacqui, but Carol takes a quick step forward and looks at Ed. "Don't–"

"Don't? You don't tell me what to do!" Ed shouts, slapping Carol across the face. She stumbles back a step, and before she can react, he raises his hand to hit her again. Before his hand can hit her a second time, a larger hand clamps down on Ed's shoulder and spins him around. Before he can even blink, Shane smashes his fist into Ed's face, shattering his nose. Before any of us can react, Shane throws Ed down to the gravel, gets down on one knee, grabs the front of Ed's shirt, and hits him over and over and over again.

Ed starts to cough up blood and tooth fragments between punches, but Shane refuses to stop. Carol, Andrea, Jacqui, and Amy are all screaming at him, but he just ignores them and keeps doling out punches, oblivious to anything except the abuser in his grip. Finally, he seems to run out of steam, and he punches Ed one last time, before letting him slump to the ground in a pool of his own blood.

Ed Peletier's face looks like hamburger. His nose is twisted sideways, bloody spit dribbles down his chin, and the entire collar of his shirt is soaked with blood. One eye is already swelling shut, and he turns his head and coughs up a mouthful of blood and phlegm. Sobbing, Carol bends down next to him and takes one of his hands in hers. She cries his name and apologizes over and over again, as if she'd done something wrong. When she bends down to kiss him on the forehead, I look away, unable to bear the sight of her kissing her abuser.

But I understand Carol and where she's coming from, because I've seen a woman react the same way before. He's probably all Carol's ever known, and she's learned to internalize the abuse. She'll blame herself for this, and once Ed recovers, he'll blame her, too. I just hope that Ed doesn't make her pay for what Shane stupidly did.

Glancing at Shane, I realize that there's something off about him, and it isn't that he just beat a man to within an inch of his life. He's stumbling around, shaking and sweating profusely, and he looks lost and confused. Dazed, even. He looks at me and frowns, before lurching away back to camp, leaving Carol sobbing over her husband's bloody chest. The rest of us watch Carol, uncertain of what we should be doing.

I tune out their worried whispers. I tune out Carol's loud sobbing, and I tune out Ed's coughing and moans of pain. All I can think is that I understand what made Shane do it. I understand why he didn't stop, even when Carol begged him too. As a police officer, he's probably seen situations like Carol's a thousand times, and he knows what happens. He knew she would never stand up for herself, so he did it for her.

And even though I know it's wrong, I agree with it. I agree with what Shane did, and even though it sickens me to my very core, I realize something that shakes every fiber of my being._ I would have done it. If I was strong enough, or big enough, or brave enough, I would have beaten him, and I wouldn't have stopped…_

My stomach rolls, and I can feel the vomit rising in the back of my throat. That thought scares me. It makes me feel like a monster, but I can't help it. I can't help but sympathize with Carol, just like I can't help but condemn Ed and his actions. Shane was right to beat him as savagely as he did. Seeing him punish Ed for his wrongdoings was like watching one of my many fantasies played out in real life.

_How many times did I wish something like this would happen to him? How many times did I dream about beating him to within an inch of his life? He would have deserved every single blow, just like Ed…_

A broken face invades my mind, and I can't get rid of it. Instead of the quarry, all I see is a white hospital room, and my mother, lying on her back on a hospital bed, wearing nothing but one of those backless gowns. Her face– normally so beautiful and caring–is broken beyond recognition or repair. She turns her head slowly and her eyes connect with mine. Her lips are swollen, her eyes are bruised, and her teeth are broken, but she whispers, "I'm sorry, baby."

My stomach clenches painfully, and I turn away from Ed and Carol, and run up the slope and back to camp, fighting tears all the way. I can't hear the worried whispers of the other camp members. I can't hear Dale shouting my name, asking me to stop and tell him what's wrong. All I hear is a dull roar in my ears as everything comes back as vividly as the day it happened. I dash past everyone as they stare, and once I reach the edge of camp, I throw up violently until there's nothing left.

_I would have done it. I would have killed him…_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Some time later, a gnarled, wrinkly hand gently clamps down on my shoulder, and I peer up into Dale's anxious eyes. His hand rubs my back gently, and he sighs. "Andrea and Amy told me what happened to Ed down at the quarry. Amy said you looked sick to your stomach, not that I blame you. Seeing all that blood and violence. That Shane's got quite a temper on him."

"It wasn't just that," I say so quietly he has to bend in closer to hear me. "I had a…a flashback. Of my mother." I say her name so softly, like she's a figment of my imagination and not the woman that gave birth to me. Dale waits patiently, eyes caring and understanding. He knows I need a second to collect myself, and he doesn't rush me. "I saw her, lying in a hospital bed, with her face beat to hell. The way she acted that night, it was like she had given up on ever having a better life. She just…accepted it! She didn't feel like she needed anything better in her life, and maybe she didn't, but _I_ did!"

Dale sighs. "I'm sure your mother would have–"

"She did nothing! Not even when he turned his anger on me. She didn't care that he'd moved on to someone smaller and weaker than her. She even watched him do it once! He broke two of my ribs, sprained my wrist, blackened both of my eyes, and broke my nose, and _she did nothing_," I hiss, narrowing my eyes at Dale. "When I saw Shane beat the living shit out of Ed, I wanted to do the same thing. All I could think about was my step-dad, and how he never got what was coming to him. I wanted him to be punished as brutally as Ed was," I stop to take a quick, gasping breath that sounds more like a harsh sob. "And that one little thought terrified me. I don't wanna be like that."

Dale forces me to look at him. "Do you think that makes you a bad person?"

"Of course it does!" I say, shocked that he could possibly think otherwise. "I wanted to kill my step-dad and my mother, on multiple occasions. I wanted him dead because of what he did to her and to me, and I wanted her dead because she stood by and let it happen." I turn away from Dale so he won't see my tears, and so he won't know how weak I feel. "I got my wish."

"Alex, your mother didn't _let_ anything happen to you."

"Yes, she did. She could have called the police; she could have taken me and run. My step-dad didn't work. He didn't contribute to our family in any way shape or form. All he did was sit around and drink, and spend her money, and smack her around when she _got lippy._ And he did the same to me, without provocation, and my mother let it happen."

"Alex–"

"Did you know that I called the police, numerous times? The first time I called the police, I was fifteen years old, and my step-dad had just slammed my mother's face down on our kitchen countertop, and she'd told me to go sit in my room and wait for her to tell me to come out. But I didn't. I called the cops, and when they got there, she lied to them. She lied to protect him, even knowing that he would come after me later. And he did. She got rid of the police, and he slapped me so hard it knocked me to the ground. She didn't even care. She didn't even flinch when he struck me. She just stood there and watched with this look on her face. You know what that look was, Dale?"

He shakes his head sadly.

"It was relief. Relief that for once in her miserable life, it wasn't her." I force myself to look Dale in the eyes, even though I'm crying and trembling from head to toe. That's what kind of woman my mother was. I know all about victims. I've been through the counseling, I've listened to others share their horrible stories of abuse. I know that it's never the victim's fault, and I know that the abuser is _always_ to blame, but none of those women were my mother."

"Your mother was still a victim, regardless of what she did or didn't do," Dale says, as if he's surprised I don't think so myself.

"No, she wasn't. She was the woman that chose an abusive husband over her daughter. She was no victim. She was an abuser, just like my step-dad. When I told her that I would testify against him if given the chance, do you know what she did? She shipped me off to live with her younger brother. He was in the military and gone for months at a time. It was just me and my therapist, which she refused to pay for. My uncle had to do it. And do you know what I learned, listening to that shrink?" I ask, not caring that my voice is rising and I'm sounding on the verge of hysterics.

"What?"

"I learned that it wasn't my fault. That none of it was ever my fault, and it never would be." I take a deep, calming breath, and I wipe my hand across my face, rubbing away tears. "There was this little girl, in my group therapy session. Her mom's new boyfriend was abusing her, and do you know what _her_ mother did? She killed the bastard for touching her little girl, for treating her daughter like she was a grown woman, and not a child. Her mother was willing to spend the rest of her life in prison to protect her child. And all my mother did was ship me away so she could go on living with her husband. Dale, do you know what my mother's last words to me were?"

He doesn't say anything at this point, but I honestly didn't expect him too. "Her last words were, 'Alex, why did you have to be so difficult?' That's what she asked me. She didn't tell me she loved me. She didn't tell me that she was sorry for sending me away. She blamed me, Dale. She blamed me for the way her life turned out. Emotional abuse, that's what it was. She abused me too, just in a different way. My therapist told me that some women just weren't meant to be mothers, and that was my mom. She didn't deserve children. She never wanted them, and she made sure I knew it. Even before my step-dad came around."

When I look up at Dale again, I can see the pity in his eyes. I'm not sure if he pities me for my suffering, or if he pities me for believing the way I do, but I don't care. My mother abandoned me for the love of an abusive man, a man that abused me as well, and I could never forgive her. Even if she was still alive.

_What if she was here, right now? What if she told you that she'd always loved you, and that she sent you away so you wouldn't get hurt anymore?_ A small, traitorous voice in the back of my mind asks snidely. _What if she convinced you that she still loved you, and had never stopped? Would you refuse to offer her forgiveness? Would you still hate her so vehemently? Is that what kind of person you are?_

My inner voice is a snide bitch, and normally I find her input to be quite helpful, but not right now. Right now, all I can think about is pain, and fear, and sadness, and loneliness. Abandonment. Those are the only words that can accurately sum up my life. All the pain and fear that I suffered through made me a stronger person in the long run. Too bad it had the opposite effect on my mother.

_You still love her. To this day, you still miss her. You still want to be close to her,_ my inner voice taunts. _You would give anything just for one embrace. Just for one tender, loving moment with her!_ That thought surprises me for just a second, but it doesn't change the way I feel. O_f course I would_, I think bitterly to myself. _She's my mother, and I still loved her, despite everything she did to me. if she was here right now, I would still tell her I love her, even if she didn't deserve to hear it…_

"Do you think Carol is a bad mother for staying with Ed?" Dale asks quietly, slicing through my inner ramblings with one short sentence. He stands there, arms folded over his chest, giving me time to think about my answer.

"No, I don't think Carol is a bad mother. But you know something. Carol didn't send Sophia away so that she could live out her life with Ed. Carol believes that she doesn't have any other options but to stay with him. That's what Ed has forced her to believe after years of abuse. My mother had options, and she used them to get rid of me instead of her husband. So no, I don't think Carol is a bad mother. I don't blame her for the abuse she suffered, but I do blame my mother. Every choice Carol's ever made has been _for_ her daughter; you can tell just by looking at her that she'd give anything for her daughter. My mother made her choice, and it wasn't me."

"Alex–"

"You can't possibly understand," I say harshly, turning away from him. I know I'll probably regret the way I've treated Dale later, but for right now, all I care about is getting rid of my anger, of venting and letting it all go, and part of me feels like Dale is trying to take my mother's side. It seems unfair, that even a complete stranger is taking her side over mine.

_I don't know why you're so surprised. It's not like this is the first time. The police took her side over yours. So did Uncle Geoffrey. You've always been alone, Alex. And that will never change. Did you honestly expect someone you've known for less than forty-eight hours to understand who you are? Did you expect him to understand what she made you?_

Dale reaches out for me, but I slap his hand away. "I'm going for a walk. I need time to clear my mind and think about some things."

He doesn't say anything as I walk away, and I can't tell if that's a good thing or a bad thing. All I know is that either way, his silence makes me want to cry.

**XXXXX**

My walk takes me back down to the quarry, which had been abandoned after Ed's savage beating at the hands of Shane. I knew that Carol was probably comforting him in their tent, trying to make it up to him in any way she could. She'd nurse him back to health–just like my mother had done on occasion after her husband had gotten into a bar fight–and Ed would surely punish her later.

After my walk, I head back to the camp to find people preparing for a fish fry of some kind. Andrea and Amy help clean a line of freshly caught fish, while Morales, Jacqui, and Shane help set up large rocks around the outside edge of the fire pits. Lori is sitting beside one of the fire pits, playing with Carl's short hair, and staring off at nothing in particular. She's still worried about Rick, and I can't say I blame her. They were expected back a little bit ago, and everyone knows what happened last time a group went into town.

I take a seat beside Lori, and she looks over at me. "Where did you disappear off to?"

"I needed some time to think."

"About Shane?" Lori asks, sounding surprised. "He got carried away, but Ed got what he deserved. No man should put his hands on a woman."

"I know. That's not what I needed to think about. It was something more…personal." I look over at her and Carl and smile. "Carl, your haircut looks nice. It makes you look older and wiser."

He smiles. "You think so?"

I nod. "Oh, yeah. I think Sophia likes it, too."

Like I knew he would, Carl blushes at the mention of Sophia. "Yeah, Sophia's cool," he mumbles, looking down at the fire pit. He looks up at Lori. "Can I go play with the other kids now? Please?"

She sighs. "Just make sure you stay in my line of sight, okay? No wandering off without an adult around." She watches him until he joins Sophia and Morales' two kids, and then she turns to me. "He's such a handful. He hates listening to anyone other than Shane, and I think he's trying to put himself in harm's way. If Rick were here, I think Carl would listen to him, but he's not, so…"

"Rick's doing what he thinks is right," I say. "I'm sure he wishes he could be here right now. But these weapons are important for the safety of the group, right? The more weapons and ammunition we have, the better we can defend ourselves. It might save someone's life."

She sighs. "I know you're talking sense, but I just can't make myself feel that way. Rick has duties here that he should be taking care of. Instead, he's out there trying to help everyone else. I just got him back, and the first thing he did was leave." She looks down at me again. "Will these guns even help us that much? Everyone who can shoot already has one. It's not like they need another. I don't know much about you. Can you shoot a gun?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Kind of. I took hunter's safety when I was a kid; my grandpa signed me up for it. I was one of the best shots in my class, but I haven't picked up a gun in years. With a bit of practice, I could probably pick it up real easy again. Can you shoot a gun? Being married to a cop, I'd think you've probably been around them a lot."

"I'm not bad," she admits, looking oddly shy about it, like she thinks I'll disapprove. "Rick and I used to go out to the gun range a few times a year. I never really thought I would have any use for gun training. Now I wish I'd done it a little more." She takes a metal pan of raw fish from someone I don't know, and she sets another pan over the fire. "Know how to cook fish?"

"Nope, but I can always learn."

I watch how Lori does it, and follow her actions closely. I can't afford to burn it; there isn't enough to waste any. The first batch is done in minutes, and Lori starts the second batch while I begin dividing up the cooked fish. Jacqui and Andrea are cooking over another fire, and Morales is dividing up what they've finished. A couple of people take their fish and head back to their tents to eat in silence. I've noticed since being here that it's like two groups of people living in one campsite.

On one side: Dale, Andrea, Amy, Jacqui, Shane, Lori, Carl, Sophia, Carol, Jim, Morales and his family, T-Dog, and Glenn. On the other side is Ed and Merle, along with a few others that don't really fit in anywhere. I'm not sure where Daryl fits, since Dale seems to see some good in him. But from what I've seen myself, it seems that Daryl belongs with his brother's side of the group.

As the fish cooks, the sun begins to go down, and it quickly gets dark. The fires give off the only light in the camp, and once the fish is done cooking, everyone gathers around our fire to eat. Without a word, Dale takes a spot beside me and hands me a plate of fish similar to his. I notice a couple of people with a bottle of beer in their hands, but I decide to stick with my water, even though I'm sure Shane wouldn't arrest me for having one beer at the end of the world. For some reason, the thought of having alcohol in my system isn't a pleasant one. In a dangerous world like this, I want my reflexes in top shape, and one beer could be the difference between life and death.

"I wanted to apologize for earlier," Dale says quietly, lowering his voice so that I'm the only one to hear him. Everyone else is talking and laughing and having a good time, and he knows there's no chance of us being overheard. "I guess I'd like to believe that your mother tried her best, but I know that there are horrible mothers out there. It wasn't my place to question your upbringing. I'm sorry."

"Its okay, Dale. It's hard for people to understand why I don't care about her. They usually just assume that I'm being an overly dramatic bitch. It's one of those things where you had to be in our home to understand. I guess deep down everyone would like to think that a mother always puts her child first, but they don't. Some women just make horrible mothers."

He puts a comforting hand on my shoulder, surprising me. I've only known this man for two days, and he's actually making an attempt to reach out and console me. Dale has to be one of the most remarkable older men I've ever met; he makes an attempt to connect to people he doesn't even know._ There should be more men like him in the world. If there were, maybe there wouldn't be as many women like my mother…_

Dale and I lapse into a thoughtful silence. He and I eat our fish, and he studies the rest of the group. When Amy gets up from her seat beside her sister and Dale, Andrea looks up. "Where are you going?"

"I have to pee. Jeez, try to be discreet around here…" Shaking her head while the others chuckle softly, she heads off toward the RV. When someone asks Dale about the gold watch he's always playing with, he goes off on a small tangent about it, making everyone in the group smile again. It seems odd that something so small as a watch can make people happy, if only for a moment, but now, in this world, it seems so important. I listen to Dale's every single word with rapt attention, and I notice that the others do as well. Everyone in camp seems to respect Dale and his views on the world.

"Hey! There's no toilet paper!" Amy says, banging open the door of the RV.

I look up just in time to see a walker latch onto her arm, ripping a chunk of flesh clean away from the bone. Amy starts to scream, and for a second, there's no other sound in the camp. Then, as if a spell had been broken, everyone leaps to their feet and begins to scream along with Amy. Andrea runs to her sister despite the fact she doesn't have a weapon of any kind in her hands, but Jim holds her back and whips a baseball bat into the side of the walker's head, forcing it to let go of Amy's neck. She slumps to the ground, covered in blood and gasping for air, while Andrea kneels on the ground beside her, completely oblivious to the rest of the walkers in camp.

A walker comes out of the trees to my left, and I pull the hunting knife from its sheath on my hip. It stumbles slowly at me, and I slide to one side, slamming my foot into his shins. He falls to the ground and I put one foot on his back, before crouching down and stabbing my knife into the back of his head. The skin is soft after possibly months of decomposing, and the knife slides in like butter. The walker shudders once and goes still, marking him as the second person I've killed since the infection started.

_I spent so long hiding in my apartment and only coming out for supplies that I wasn't prepared to survive on my own when those supplies ran out!_

Carol runs toward the RV, holding Sophia close to her chest in an attempt to protect her in any way she can. Lori and Carl are hiding behind Shane in an attempt to stay alive, and Shane is firing off shots one by one. Each time he fires, a walker drops to the ground, but another seems to come from the trees to take the place of its fallen comrade. He's yelling for everyone to make their way to the RV so they can defend themselves, but I'm not sure if I can make it there in one piece.

Already there are other walkers coming toward me. Two of them shuffle forward, herding me away from the RV and the protection of the group. As the walkers come down on me, I back away slowly, knife raised in a defensive manner. I'm not sure I'll be able to handle two at once, so I look for anyone around that might be able to help me, and I come up empty-handed. I'm on my own with two walkers that will try to sink their teeth into my flesh and eat me alive.

One reaches out a deformed hand and I slap it away, shifting my knife into a more dangerous position. My foot hits a root sticking out of the ground and I go down hard on one elbow. The knife slides out of my hand and the wind is knocked from my lungs; I can't even scream as the walkers descend on me. Before they can sink their teeth into me, a shot goes off and one of the walkers drops to the ground, missing half of his face.

A man darts out of the trees behind me and stabs the remaining walker in the head with a huge hunting knife. Daryl looks down at me with a sneer. "Get up!" He doesn't wait for me to do as he says. He grips my shoulder so hard that it hurts, and he hauls me to my feet, shoving me in the general direction of the RV. When he's out of ammunition, Daryl hops in front of me, forcing me to huddle at his back. One arm wraps around my side, keeping me from getting in his way, and the other shifts the hunting knife into a better position.

He takes out three more walkers before depositing me in front of the RV. "Stay here," he says gruffly, before darting back into the crowd of walkers. After another minute or so, the shooting stops, and the entire camp goes deathly silent. Some of the men are busy checking walkers to make sure they're all down for good, and they give out a few death blows to ones that are still twitching.

As my heart stops racing and my breathing goes back to normal, one strangled cry goes up over and over again. "Amy!" Andrea screams her sister's name over and over again, capturing the attention of every single living person in camp. Lori and Carol both clutch their children for dear life, and Dale stares at Amy's bloody body with horror; he cared about them like daughters.

The only people not watching Amy are Shane and Rick. They're busy staring each other down, silently blaming one another for the massacre. I'm not sure who to blame, but I know that standing around won't fix anything. Turning away from Amy–I think I'll be sick if I have to see her lifeless eyes one more time–I head off into the destroyed camp to find Daryl. He's hanging back from Rick and Shane a ways, and I sidle up beside him. "Daryl?"

He glances down at me and snorts. "What do _you_ want?"

"I wanted to thank you for saving my life a few minutes ago," I say quietly, trying not to disturb the mourning around the camp. Others are just now finding their deceased loved ones, and I hear Carol's anguished cry above all the rest. I know that Sophia is safe, so it must be Ed that didn't survive. It makes me feel bad to think it, but I know that nobody other than Carol and Sophia will miss him, and the world is probably a better place without Ed Peletier in it. "If you hadn't shown up when you did, I'd be dead right now." I reach out to touch his shoulder, and he jerks away from me.

"Don't touch me!" he snaps, narrowing his eyes at me. "You thanked me, now beat it!"

He turns and storms off, bumping into anyone too slow to get out of his way. I watch him go with a strange feeling in my gut. _All I did was try to thank him for saving my life. He didn't have to be so mean about it…_

A hand clamps down gently on my shoulder, and I wince. Even though I'm sure Daryl didn't mean to hurt me, he gripped my shoulder definitely hard enough to bruise. "Come on," Dale says. "We have a lot of work to do. We'll have to make sure none of our people come back, or we'll have another panic on our hands. Come help me keep watch."

With one last look at Daryl–who is busy ramming the sharp end of a pickaxe into a dead man's brain–I head after Dale, careful to keep an eye out for more walkers.


End file.

Walking Dead, Drama, Horror